Nails
by EYES to LIE
Summary: Nails in their feet and nails in their hearts; holding them in place, unable to move. Such pretty dolls, they make. -A collection of short oneshots regarding the NPCs in Mabinogi. Various pairings.- Most Recent: HOOTHOOT  7/?
1. Brambles

A/N: I'm a one shot maniac.

Perpetual Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this collection. Shove it.

* * *

**I. B R A M B L E S**

_She loves him._

_She loves him not._

The black rose petals fall from her hands one by one, staining the pale skin of her fingertips dark with magic and lost promises.

_She loves him._

_She loves him not._

The black rose layers fall from her body, staining the ground with the shed life of a Fomor.

_She loves him._

They bear the same name, yet are two completely different creations.

They bear the same problem; as the unsightly pieces are pulled away, all that is left is a weak center that cannot protect itself.

_She loves him not._

The days fly by without word. The years fly by without voice. He must be dead, she thinks, to have been gone for so many a year.

_She loves him._

Layers of soft betrayal, soft beauty, soft hatred, soft shadow, soft tainted love speak to the contrary.

But perhaps he will come tomorrow.

_He loves her not._

The sharp thorns of the empty stem that cuts into her fingers—drawing blood and bitter sadness—say otherwise.


	2. Nudity

**II. NUDITY  
**

Trefor is not half the clumsy oaf she thinks him to be, as illustrated by his nimble footwork and sleight of hand with the sword—moving gracefully despite the heavy, clunking armor encircling his body.

If he gets to see more of her, he does not mind a bruise.

Or a cut.

And what's a missing finger or two for love?

Hell, take his arm.

He goes to her with these new injuries and a bashful expression. She returns it with cold hands and iceberg censure and a frown upon her faintly glossed lips.

He knows she'd like to hit him.

She doesn't know that he would like to hit her too—in a completely different sense of the word.

But until he works up his courage—the heart behind the tin man still beats hard in her presence—he doesn't mind this roundabout way of seeing her. He'd give both of his legs for a kind word.

He'd run through Peaca dungeon naked to see Dilys smile.


	3. S&M

**III. S&M  
**

She buries her nose in the book, hoping to hide the flash of burning scarlet on her face as he smiles and discusses the wondrous properties of Icebolt.

A momentary glance at his face does her in.

Oh, Goddess, he was so _cute_.

_Actnormalactnormal_, shouts her mantra. The lenses of her glasses fog up in rebellion. Did he notice?

How could he _not_?

"Are you alright, Aeira?" He asks from behind the safety of his own wood rimmed frames, the sunlight hitting the brighter spots in his fresh-ginger hair. "You look a little flushed."

Really? She hadn't noticed.

"I'm fine," she manages to squeak out, shutting the book and cowering behind her bangs in embarrassment. "It's just a little warm today."

She's said the right thing this time—or the wrong thing. He launches into another tirade about how the bolts from Icebolt are the perfect temperature for cooling down the average Tuatha De Danann—or for bringing smoothies to a delicious consistency. She gives a small smile of encouragement, happy for a brief reprieve. Goddess, how she loved that boy. Loved his mind, his tangled hair, his soft eyes, his stained robe, his everything. Even loved the way that his mere presence made her squirm with painful delight.

She was such a masochist.

So Stewart, Aeira decides, must be a sadist.

Which was fine with her.


	4. Love and Punch

**IV. LOVE AND PUNCH  
**

Caitlin tossed back another (un)healthy swig of the amber liquid and shared a glance with Bebhinn, whose peculiar blue eyes were agitatedly bright against her dark brown skin.

"It's like, there's absolutely _no _free guys around here, y'know? I mean, there's Malcolm and he's _so_ girly and _soo _wimpy, but he's so _cute _too, and I could work with that right?"

Malcolm, mostly ignored in Caitlin's bar—rather, her kitchen—blushed profusely into his own glass.

"Too bad he's like, having _eye orgasms _every time Nora walks by."

The liquid sprayed over the countertop, accented by the blonde male's bewildered expression.

"_HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT? NO ONE KNOWS THAT."_ Bebhinn shot him a look, the only one relatively sober in their little trio.

"Everyone knows, Mal. Everyone. Except Nora."

"I mean, it's not that I'm _fat _or anything, right? I'm a little plump but, I'm not like a dough-girl, _right?_"

"Too bad that plumpness isn't in the tit region, isn't it?" Malcolm muttered into his glass, loud enough for both of his drinking companions to hear and discern.

"_Whhhhhhaaaaaaaat?"_

"Mal!"

"Well, it's true isn't it?" He jabbed a finger at Caitlin's lacking bustline. "Flat. Flat as an iron. Flat as a gray town rat being stomped on by an obese giant. Now Beb on the other hand—that's a rack." He jabbed his finger in the other direction, miscalculating his depth perception and muscle control and poking Bebhinn in the chest. Behind her dark skin, darker color pooled in fury.

"_MALCOLM!"_

"_MAL!"_

"Holy shit, Beb, are you even wearing a bra? This doesn't feel like there's a bra there. Not that I would know of course but—wow, this is soft?"

Caitlin's hands clenched. Bebhinn's knuckles cracked. Thunder cracked overhead and Glas Ghaibhleann suddenly reconsidered its plan of invading the human world.

It was, two seconds after the aforementioned point, that Malcolm hit the floor.


	5. Dip

**V. DIP  
**

Nele is a patient, calm being.

He is the embodiment of serenity.

A picture of peace.

He is content to stand in Emain Macha and strum his lute for whoever passes by. This is simply how he is—even now, when Aer has granted her beloved bard the gift of immortality.

This bothers some.

Which is why Galvin has compiled a list of things to shatter than image of tranquility.

Items one, two, and three on the list of things To Never Ever Ever Ever _Ever_ Ask Nele are all the same:

_How do you feel about skinny dippers?

* * *

_

**Because the man with the lute has got to draw the line somewhere.**_  
_


	6. Chinwig

**VI. CHINWIG  
**

The slap is cold against his cheek.

"I thought you were dead."

"I know."

"You aren't dead."

"Obviously."

"Shut up. You look like a bum."

"I know."

"I hate you."

"Alright then."

His eyes are heavy lidded and relaxed and, despite the censure heating her words, a big smile is stretched across his face. Her eyes are sharp and hurt, her jaw tightly clenched.

"I missed you." He tells her.

"Why didn't you come to see me, then?" She demands, wanting to follow his logic—the reason why he spent so much time away from her; hiding just outside the city, close enough to touch.

"Because I couldn't."

"That's a bullshit reason and you know it."

"I know." He sighs. "But I still love you."

Aranwen's lips are warm against Price's cheek.

"Shave off the soup-catcher and you can have a real kiss, Redire."

Price only grins.


	7. HootHoot

**VII. HOOTHOOT  
**

How pathetic would it be for her to proclaim that she no longer needs people?

That she no longer wants to cling to their presence as they pass through the Soulstream and into Erinn?

That she no longer pines for her life as 'Mari' instead of 'Nao'?

How pathetic would it be for her to shout to Morrighan that all she needs is the Goddess's love and that of her white owls, which crowd around her with love and affection bright in their dark eyes?

Not very, because she knows how to hold on to memories.

Not very, because she still remembers their voices.

Not very, because she still remembers the days of being a human Tuatha De Danann; the days when warm blood and hot feelings surged through her child's body.

Two owls circle above Nao constantly, familiar and loved. They are always with her; protecting her.

She has named them well.

"Tarlach! Ruari! Another soul is coming soon!"

No, Nao decides, it's not very pathetic after all.

Memories are all she needs.


End file.
